Behind Erik's Eyes
by DaniNatureGirl313
Summary: Set during the plane scene "X2", when everyone is heading off to go rescue Charles. It's my idea of what was going through Erik's mind in the midst of his semi-bonding moment w/ John.


**Behind Erik's Eyes**

_**AN: I was inspired to write this while the movie was playing on tv. This song's lyrics really seemed to fit him.**_

**John: "They say you're the bad guy."**

**Erik: "Is **_**that**_** what they say?"**

**(Excerpt above taken from "X2: X-Men United")**

_**No one knows what it's like **_

_**To be the bad man**_

_**To be the sad man**_

_**Behind blue eyes**_

"If only this young pup knew", Erik Lehnsherr mused to himself. None of them were present when his childhood home was raided, when his mother screamed as their door was kicked open, when he was knocked to the ground and glimpsed a swastika on one of the soldier's arms before briefly passing out. None of them saw when he was thrown into the back of a bus, which was bound for the train station, the start of his journey to the camps. None of them saw how his former neighbors shut their windows, refusing to get involved out of fear for their own lives. And none of them stared into the steely grey gaze of one of the few people more evil than Hitler, himself, standing there helplessly as that same man put a bullet in his mother's brain. That was the moment when the last shred of his innocence turned to ashes. That moment was the planting of the seed that eventually blossomed into earning him his nickname: Magneto.

_**No one knows what it's like**_

_**To be hated**_

_**To be fated**_

_**To telling only lies**_

Under the guise of that name, he was an invincible symbol, a nearly unstoppable force. If people called him nasty for it, oh well. Or at least, that's what he'd have them believing he thought. He didn't want them to know about the nightmares…the flashbacks…the occasional panic attacks. He didn't want them to know about the special photo album he kept hidden under his cot, wherever the Brotherhood's hideout happened to be. All the pictures in it were of times when he'd actually been happy. He was ever so much younger then, those long decades past. "I was quite a catch then, too", he thought with a naughty half-smile.

At 6'1, the young Erik Lehnsherr had cut an imposing figure. He'd been all lithe, lean muscle…a bit like a racehorse. He could run like one, as well, according to Charles during one of their daily jogs around the mansion. Erik blinked away the tears that memory made prickle in the corners of his eyes, sighing as he ran his fingers through his now-moonlight-grey hair. It used to be a rusty auburn color and was a bit shorter, but still thick. His face had been smooth, with only a couple of minor lines in his forehead. There was also some slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes, forming whenever he'd flash one of his trademark toothy grins. He'd heard one particularly flirty girl mumble that "someone could etch glass on that jaw". His voice used to be much silkier, too, before a combination of age and even more excessive smoking roughened up the purring lilt. Besides English and his native German, he spoke six other languages. He secretly shared Wolverine and Cyclops's passion for motorcycles. He loved martinis and good books, his personal favorite being _Frankenstein_. But nobody else knew all that. Nobody, that is…except Raven "Mystique" Darkholme. She'd been there to see all of it. She'd brought him a blanket and some hot coffee the night he and Charles first met, when he'd been pulled from the Gulf of Mexico. She'd been the one to keep all his secrets, never allowing the general public to see the man beneath the dark legend, past all the lies he told.

_**But my dreams, they aren't as empty**_

_**As my conscience seems to be**_

_**I have hours, only lonely.**_

_**My love is vengeance that's never free.**_

People, both mutants and humans alike, called him a countless number of nasty names. Sometimes, that was done out in the open, and sometimes not. Either way, Erik didn't care. Their opinions meant nothing to him, not when his cause was ultimately the right one. How could fighting for equality be considered wrong? What truly separated him from other leaders who'd tried for the same, besides the slight humming he could feel from the metal walls of the plane around him? Of course, that in itself was the answer. He could control a major part of his environment, while those other men and women could not. It was that little unique quality, that tiny jealousy-inducing quirk that kept him separate from all his big dreams. Those dreams weren't just for _him_, though, far from it. They were for _all_ mutants out there, who only wanted to be able to walk down a street, with other humans knowing what they were, and not be afraid. What was so awful about that? How in the world was that bad? If a few explosions had to happen to make those dreams come true, so be it. Erik would rather slit his own wrists than see another generation be subjected to the same torture he'd endured as an early-teen, simply because they were born quote-on-quote "different".

Being a freedom-fighter wasn't exactly a glamorous thing, though. The only real problem with a crusade like this was that it didn't allow for comfy, more permanent locations to operate from. That was one advantage the X-Men had. He should know. He'd lived in that mansion, too, even though it was for a short while. If only Charles's little soldiers were made aware of this…he chuckled under his breath as he imagined the shocked looks on their faces. He'd walked those same halls, lifted those same weights, breathed that same air, ate in that same kitchen, slept in one of those same beds, and warmed himself before that same fireplace in the library as he played chess with their beloved leader. Admittedly, during all the years he'd been on the run with the Brotherhood, fighting their special fight, recalling those times were all that kept him going. The twenty minutes when he'd learned to turn that satellite dish made him realize the full reach his powers could have. In a way, that very brief span of time made him who he was today. He couldn't dwell on it too long, though. As sweet as those days were, he had bigger fish to fry. He would punish the world for hurting him, and in the process, prevent it from hurting anyone else. He just wished the war could be easier, that's all.

_**No one knows what it's like**_

_**To feel these feelings like I do**_

_**And I blame you**_

_**No one bites back as hard on their anger.**_

_**None of my pain and woe can show through.**_

Contrary to popular belief, Erik didn't have a heart of stone. He truly did care, and his quest for mutant equality was his way of showing it. This was the side to him nobody else could see, or refused to. It was their loss, not his. He didn't need _them_. He'd been hurt too much and too deeply by _them_, the nameless, faceless mass that helped to build up his hard outer shell. Only the blue-skinned woman beside him and her adopted brother knew about the soft, squishy center. He'd made that clear the night before the Cuba incident, their big argument and separation: "Listen to me very carefully, my friend. Killing Shaw will not bring you peace." Not missing a beat, he'd replied, "Peace was never an option." It also, tragically, happened to be the night before the telepath had become paralyzed…a moment he preferred to not think about, mostly because he knew deep down that it was his fault. He took a deep breath to calm himself, mentally shouting, "Damn you, Charles! Even held captive, you still can get to me!" Raven raised an eyebrow when the buckles on their seatbelts trembled, but he waved her off. He took another breath. Erik rarely lost his temper to that degree. He couldn't afford to, not with their goals so close to being accomplished. The helmet sitting next to him often acted more like a mask, hiding his vulnerabilities from the world.

_**But my dreams, they aren't as empty**_

_**As my conscience seems to be**_

_**I have hours, only lonely. **_

_**My love is vengeance that's never free. **_

Erik would often spend hours, pacing around whatever hideout they'd found as he tried to think up new strategies for the Brotherhood. "Thank goodness for Raven", he thought as he subtly squeezed her hand. She was a great second-in-command. She'd come a long way from the somewhat-shy girl he'd met back in '62. Even now, he still remembered the advice he'd given her back then, one piece of it being, "If I looked like you, I wouldn't change a thing." She was the only other friend he had, besides Charles. But again, nobody out there could see that. Magneto didn't have _friends_. Magneto had _allies._ He had _companions-in-arms_, mutants who could help him accomplish anything he wanted. It made him even more of a powerhouse, though that power did come at a price.

_**No one knows what it's like **_

_**To be mistreated, to be defeated**_

_**Behind blue eyes**_

_**No one knows how to say that they're sorry, and don't worry.**_

_**I'm not telling lies.**_

He remembered a certain event from just one year ago, when he'd hidden in the shadows and listened as Jean Grey gave her speech. Not a single person noticed the wrinkled old man in the black trench-coat and matching hat. None of them looked close enough to see the haunted feelings swirling around in those ice-blue irises, or how the man tilted his hat down to hide said emotions as he walked away. He was almost clear of the gathered crowd, but then: "Don't give up on them, Erik."

It was a moment of such Deja-vu. In fact, he almost expected that when he turned around, he'd be back in his favorite black leather jacket, young and vigorous again. He'd see his best friend back on two legs, hands in his pockets as he stood in front of a CIA-run building. But that wasn't what happened. Everything was the same as always: two men weathered down by time and trials, one of them in a wheelchair. There was so much to say between them, but for once in his life, Erik was too stubborn to speak up. "I will bring you hope, old friend. And I ask only one thing in return…don't get in my way." Why did he have to pick those particular words, out of the millions available to him?

He felt so guilty for accidentally turning Charles into a paraplegic. Over the years, he'd thought of so many different ways to apologize, but not one of them seemed suitable. In that little moment, why on Earth did he have to be so rude and arrogant-sounding? Why? Well, at least he lived up to his reputation. But even as he turned on his heel and walked away, he knew Charles had been expecting a much better reaction. The dejected look in the telepath's eyes more than proved that. His friend needn't have been so nervous. Erik was going to fix all their problems, and the Xavier Institute wouldn't have to be swept under the rug like some dirty secret.

_**But my dreams, they aren't as empty**_

_**As my conscience seems to be**_

_**I have hours, only lonely.**_

_**My love is vengeance that's never free.**_

Erik gave an amused smirk at the boy's observation about his helmet. He'd lost count of how many times someone had told him that, or asked him what it was for. His response was simple, but of course, that all depended on how one defined the term "bad guy". The rest of the world seemed to have a very different meaning for that than he did, but it didn't matter. Revolutions take time. He could be patient…even if he occasionally felt lonely doing it. He knew years ago what he was getting himself into.

_**No one knows what it's like**_

_**To be the bad man, to be the sad man**_

_**Behind blue eyes**_

When John…sorry, _Pyro_…complained rather sadly that he couldn't personally make the fire he controlled, Erik was quick to give his own special brand of reassurance. This boy was an easy recruit. He was bitter, feeling rejected, sad, and secretly lonely. Erik could definitely relate to that. Young mutants like Pyro were exactly who he needed. He quickly schooled his face into a cold, neutral expression. The frightened child of the Holocaust, the vigilante who hunted down war criminals, the first technical X-Man…he pushed that last thought out of his mind. He couldn't let the memories it brought back interfere. As of right now, he wasn't Erik anymore. He was Magneto, and he'd do his hardest to make sure nobody was allowed to see beyond that.

_**AN: Please, be kind in your reviews. Thanks a bunch.**_


End file.
